Alone Together
by A Dirty Little Secret
Summary: They both have no one. So they are alone. Together. AdrianLee&RickyUnderwood. Drabbles.
1. BREAK

**-BREAK-**

She cannot believe that everything is about to blow up in her face.

Everything is going wrong and everyone in the world is out to piss her off.

Amy fucking Juergens is having his baby.

Ben fucking Boykewich is telling her that she can't have what she wants.

Grace fucking Bowman is going on a crusade to save the damn baby.

Jack fucking Pappas keeps trying to give her a Bible.

And _he… He_ is the fucking root of all evil. He is going to be a fucking father. He is still trying to ruin the fucking Christian virgin. He _still_ won't fucking admit that _she_ is best for him when he knows damn well that it's true.

But for a few brief seconds she doesn't particularly give a shit, because his arms are wrapped around her body and his mouth is attached to her ear. She feels like the temperature in the bedroom has gone up at least ten degrees, but she can't help pulling him closer, trying to absorb more heat from his body. His length is pumping in and out of her, searing her insides as she writhes beneath him, pushing at her muscles. Her legs are locked behind his back, caging him against her, and her plump lips are pulling at his pulse. He grunts loudly and shifts his weight to both arms, hurriedly pushing himself into her.

She lets the cries tumble from her mouth freely, practically hoping that someone will hear, praying that he'll understand how well they fit and how well they are able to please each other. "Oh, fuck… Oh, oh, fuck… Fuck, oh…" Her painfully perfectly manicured nails are about to tear the skin on his shoulder blades, so she drags them down the full length of his back, hopefully scaring him for a little while. "Oh, Ri-… Right there…" She skillfully avoids his name because names are personal and she knows that the harder she holds on and the more sentimental she becomes the harder he'll begin to pull away.

His hand is cupping the fullness of her breast and his fingers are squeezing at her nipples, tugging hard, reminding her that this is nothing personal, this is strictly for release, it always had been, and it always will be. She smirks against his cheek. It's only going to be a matter of time before she changes his mind. He can only chase what he cannot have for so long. He can only want blonde instead of brown for so long. He can only want fresh instead of experienced for so long.

She runs one hand down his chest slowly, tracing the sharp outlines of his body. _Mine_, she thinks possessively, _fucking mine, bitch_. His mouth is on her neck now, licking and sucking at her sweaty skin, bruising her, marking her. She simpers to herself because she likes the idea of him branding her, claiming her, having her. Suddenly she's over the edge and every muscle in her body is clenching at once. She cries out, hoping that he feels this way too sometimes and that maybe she won't have to work so damn hard for his attention anymore.

"Oh, fuck," he moans suddenly. "Adrian…" And then he comes deep inside her, letting his head fall to rest on her shoulder, his eyes closed, his length still pumping. She throws her head back, pushing it into the pillow, her eyes wide as she revels in amazement. It's her name. And he said it. Softly, but he said it.

She grins wickedly into the darkness.

"I should go."

Her grin disappears. "You can't drive like this. Just relax for a few minutes, Hump-'n-Go." He sighs, but lowers his body next to her. Crossing an arm over his body, he strokes his finger over her hip silently. She closes her eyes, hoping that he can't see. She lets out a quiet, satisfied moan, and runs her tongue over her lips.

They have been lying silently for a while when he stands up and pulls on his boxers and jeans. "Are you seriously leaving now? You already broke curfew. Why bother?" He bends down and kisses her softly, running his finger down her collarbone. She kisses him gently, over and over, attempting to entice him into crawling back onto the bed. Tangling his hand in her hair, he grins against her lips.

"You smell like sex," he chuckles, resting his nose against the side of her head. Her hand slowly trails up his arm before lowering back down to grab a hold of his wrist. She bats her eyelashes.

"Shower?" she suggests brazenly, tightening her hold on his wrist.

He tugs away from her and leaves the room without another word. A door creaks open and slams shut. She sighs, letting her body relax against the mattress. It's only a matter of time until he can't resist anymore. All of a sudden there is a dull noise and she strains her ears. Sitting up, she looks around blindly in the darkness.

The hall light flicks on and a bath towel hits her in the face.

"Hurry your ass, Adrian. Are you coming or not?"

She smirks again.

Slowly, she is breaking him.

-x-

-x-

_**AdrianLee&RickyUnderwood. **_

_**TheSecretLifeoftheAmericanTeenager.**_

-x-

**Author's Note**: So...yeah. This is my first SLOTAT fic. Previously, I stuck near the High School Musical fandom (which I will be returning to eventually for those of you HSM fans who saw this alert in your inbox, got all excited, and where then crashed back down to reality. Sorry!). However, recently my friends and I have become attracted to the sheer ridiculousness that is Secret Life. To anyone who truly enjoys the show: I mean you no offense. My friends and I just happen to find everything that happens in the show hilarious.While my friends continue to laugh at all aspects of the show, Adrian and Ricky have intrigued me. There's more to their characters than just an obscene willingness to shed their clothes. At least, _I _think there is. Adrian is smarter than your typical school whore, and Ricky... Ricky is still a bit of a mystery, but there must be something worthwhile in there somewhere. Personally, I think they want each other. Well, it's insanely clear that Adrian wants Ricky. I just like to think that - deep, deep down - it's reciprocal. I know there are definitely people out there who insist that Ricky will man up and take care of Amy and her baby (apparently all thanks to Grace and her Christian influence, or something) and that Adrian will never end up with him, but I hope that it isn't true. Ricky is clearly extremely troubled thanks to his father; going around with girls willy-nilly is what he does, and I doubt that spending two weeks with an overly peppy Christian girl that he only wants to lay will have made much of a difference. And I doubt that Amy wants him very much anyway. Besides, he always seems to be going back to Adrian in the end. ;)

So anyway... I was thinking about making this a series of Adrian/Ricky drabbles, using them to work on character development and such.

Reviews would be a great way to leave your opinion!


	2. KINKY

**-KINKY-**

"Is he your boyfriend?" her mother asks, slowly sipping a cup of coffee.

"No."

"Then what is he?"

"He's… Ricky."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means… work in progress."

"You're wooing him?"

"No. I'm fucking him."

Her mother winces, "I don't need to hear that."

"I hear _you_ all the time," she replies snidely. "I don't like it either. But I deal."

"I don't appreciate your tone, young lady. Just because we gossip like best friends does not mean that I stop being your--"

There is a knock at the door. When she opens it, she is, surprisingly, pleasantly surprised. He looks delectably eatable standing there, and she looks up at him, her eyes trailing over his slender figure. "I didn't call." She shrugs her shoulders and he takes it as an invitation to come in, scooping her into his arms. Her legs lock around his waist as his teeth lock around her bottom lip. He slams the door shut and lets one of his hands slip up the back of her t-shirt, already snapping the back of her bra open.

"Adrian…"

She pulls back, annoyed. "Mom, we have company. We can finish this conversation later." He appears unfazed, still holding her in his arms as her mother fixes a pointed glare on them. Within seconds, she is throwing up her hands in defeat, grabbing her purse, and leaving the apartment.

Smirking, she kisses him again. "Why are you here?" she asks. "Not that I don't want you here. It's just not your usual time. I would have neatened up the place or something." He carries her into the living room, bending down and placing her on the couch, kneeling between her spread legs. He pulls her closer, kissing her lips harshly, his hands already beginning to trail up her thighs.

"I thought you said you liked spontaneous guys. I thought you said that guys who kept you on your toes made you hot." His slips his hands under the hem of her shirt and pushes her back against the arm of the couch, pushing her shirt up over her breasts along with her bra. Leaning forward, he flicked at her breasts with his tongue, hardening her nipples into peaks. He climbs onto the couch beside her, one of his arms going around her back to hold her close to him. His free hand grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it over her head, throwing it on top of the potted plant in the corner along with her bra. Touching his lips to her collar bone, his fingers deftly unbutton and unzip her jeans. He pulls back briefly to rid himself of his own shirt before returning to her lips, shoving a hand into her dark curls to hold her closer. She grabs his shoulders and pulls him tight to her body, her hands smoothing down over the working muscles in his back.

Lying flat, chest to chest, they begin clawing at each other's remaining clothes. After everything as been shed and her living room floor is dotted with shirts and pants and undergarments, he cups her and feels the moisture between her legs, slipping two of his fingers into her. She gasps and bucks her hips into his hand, clawing at his back. He doesn't really move for a few moments, just twisting and turning.

"Want it?" he practically snickers in her ear.

"Yes," she hisses, "Yes, yes, yes." His fingers pump fluidly as his mouth teases her nipples again. She throws her head back and lets out a moan, grinding down on his fingers. He curls them before straightening them sharply, and she screams, feeling juices beginning to leak all over his hands. His thumb reaches up to toy with her clit, and her orgasm shakes her body as her inner walls clench down around his thrusting fingers. She moves to return the favor but doesn't even get a chance he's positioning his erect member at her entrance.

"Not on the couch! I have to entertain on here!" He smirks, pulling her down onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table. He stuffs a pillow beneath her head as he trails his tongue languidly over her neck, kneeling between her bent legs. Pressing the tip of his erection against her slit once more, he teases her. She pants into is ear and he finally pushes in roughly, embedding himself inside her heat. She groans, squeezing her eyes shut as his teeth nip playfully at her skin. His strokes are quick and hard, just the way she likes it, and her back arches up off the carpet. He grunts as he pounds into her, one of his hands dropping to toy with her swollen and sensitive bud once more.

"God, fucking yes," he groans, plunging as far into her as possible. She presses her head back against the ground hard, digging her nails into his biceps as she rocks her hips back against his, meeting him thrust for thrust. His head falls down into the crook of her neck, but he lifts it up again and stares into her eyes, daring her to let go. Her orgasm shakes her entire body and he smiles through his moan as she clamps around him, milking him for all he has.

"Oh, _shit._" Once he comes, he pulls out, lying down beside her in the small space between the couch and coffee table. Glancing around, he chuckles.

"This is one place I never figured we'd do it. Shower, sure. Bedroom, sure. Kitchen, sure. Dining room, sure. The living room floor just never seemed likely. It wasn't wild enough." She rolls her eyes but smiles, because this is one of their good days. "Admit it, though. That was some of the best sex we've had that's not in a bed."

"This is the only sex that we've had that's not in a bed."

"Whatever. I'm still right. And it was still sex, so either way it's a win-win."

"You're such a man-whore." He leans over to kiss her neck, and the conversation ends. Hours later, after a nap that has left them both with stiff backs, he helps her up off the floor and she smiles to herself. They both glance back at the floor and then at each other's naked forms and they laugh. As she brushes her hair back with her fingers, his hands cup her neck and cheek and his kisses her hard, pressing her hips back against the edge of her dinner table. She moans into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his torso. He presses her back farther until she needs to brace a hand on the cold surface to avoid falling back. Pulling away briefly, she looks over her shoulder at the table and then back at him.

He smirks, "Kinky, right?"

-x-

-x-

_**AdrianLee&RickyUnderwood. **_

_**TheSecretLifeoftheAmericanTeenager.**_

-x-


	3. HOME

**-HOME-**

She holds his books in her hands as she walks hesitantly towards the apartment building. She wonders where he lived before foster care, before this couple took him in. She wants to know if he had a place like her mom rents or if he had a legitimate house or if he was friends with the neighboring kids. She bets all the little girls were afraid of him because she imagines a smaller version of the Ricky that she knows, and a smaller version of her Ricky would be a little kid that parents didn't want hanging around their toddlers. Looking up at the many floors, she approaches the intercom hesitantly, glancing around. The people here all look so normal, and she can't picture him fitting in. He's different from everyone else, and all these people in their fancy clothes just don't mesh with him. Pulling the small post-it note out of her pocket, she searches for the same number and pushes the button.

"_Hello?_" The same voice that phoned her earlier that morning answers.

"It's Adrian. From Ricky's school. I have his books."

"_Oh, of course. Come on up, sweetie._" She passes a girl on her way across the building and wonders how many of them in this building he's had sex with. She wonders if he's even tried before or if he deems her reliable enough to not need a backup. She ascends in the elevator, nervously tapping her foot until the doors slide open. She stops at the door with the right number on it and she knocks three times before tousling her hair and pulling down her shirt. Nobody answers. She raps her knuckles against the door again. She hears a hoarse call from the other side, and he appears in the doorway wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt, his nose glowing red.

"What are you doing…at my…here?" he sniffs, putting a tissue to his nose. She holds up his school books and he frowns, but she isn't sure if it's because of the books or her. "Oh. Someone else could have brought them." It's her. She rolls her eyes and hands him the binders. He starts to close the door.

"You don't have any other friends."

He smirks, "You barely count as my friend."

"I know." She looks at him expectantly. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"No." His voice is harsh and she notices that his grip on the door tightens. "I don't want you to come in." She presses her palm against the wood defiantly.

"I drove all the way here to bring you your books." He shrugs, reaching out to dislodge her arm. A short black woman appears behind him, grinning widely as she dries her hands on a dishtowel.

"Oh, hello!" she says enthusiastically in the same voice from the intercom. His hand snaps back. "You must be Adrian. Why don't you come inside?" She pushes Ricky back gently and pulls the door open wider. "I'm just making him some tea for his throat. Come in, come in." She grins and nods at the woman, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind her. She looks over at him and he frowns even more, wiping at his nose again.

"You couldn't just leave?" he hisses. "Can't you tell when you're not wanted somewhere?" She glares back at him, crossing her arms.

"I was curious. I wanted to see where you live. I've never seen your place before. You always come to my house." He sneezes twice into his elbow before turning back to her.

"That's because we're not dating. There's no reason for you to be here."

"Shut up. Your mom asked me to come in."

"She's not my mom." He walks down a short hallway and disappears behind a white door. The woman returns with a steaming mug.

"Do me a favor, dear, and bring this to him." She sighs, pointing, "His room is the last one." She follows the directions, leaving her bag on the hall floor, and opens the door. He glances over and rolls his eyes, continuing to untangle the blankets by his feet. She sets the mug down on the corner of his desk and looks around. The white walls are dull, and everything about his room is impersonal, as though he only moved into it a few hours prior. It reminds her of a jail cell without barred windows.

"You have a nice home."

"This isn't my home," he mutters, lying back against his pillows. She sits down on the edge of his bed and plays with the strings on his sweatshirt. She's glad when he doesn't fight her.

"You could make it home," she suggests, glancing around at the bare walls. "All it needs is a little–"

"You're kidding right?" He sneezes again. "Two more years and I'm out of here. And then they get a new kid to watch." She touches his hair and he grabs her wrist. "Cut it out. Can you just leave, please?" She looks down at him.

"Do your school work. Every time I try to tutor you, we end up having sex. So do your school work. You can't fall behind." She purposely shoves her hand into his hair and holds tightly when he ignores her.

"Alright, alright, I'll do my work." She lets go and stands up, kicking a pair of his sneakers out of her way. "Can you wear those boots again when I'm not sick?"

"Do your school work and I'll consider it."

"Nice ass," he calls after her as she bends down to gather up her bag. She ignores him and pulls the door shut behind her.

The next day, when she brings his books, he stays in the bathroom the whole time. When he goes back to his room, there is a poster taped lamely on the wall at the foot of his bed. He calls out the door to ask about it, and the reply of "Adrian brought it over for you," meets his ears from the kitchen. He closes his door again and stares at it, his arms crossed. Then, he reaches over and tears it off the wall. Grabbing the tape off of his desk, he stands on his bed, slowly and carefully taping each corner to the ceiling.

When he wakes up in the morning, it is the first thing that his eyes land on. He stretches out and rests his hands behind his head.

He smiles because he feels like at least someone wants him to have a happy home.

-x-

-x-

_**AdrianLee&RickyUnderwood. **_

_**TheSecretLifeoftheAmericanTeenager.**_

-x-

* * *

**Author's Note:** Here's another little Adrian/Ricky drabble. I was watching the latest SLOTAT and I felt like I should write some more, completely ignoring studying for my midterms. (That's right - I'm trying to guilt you into telling me what you think of it. ...Is it working?) Who hates Bob? I hate Bob. Stupid child-molesting Bob Underwood. *spoiler* At the end, when Adrian told Ricky about his father being sent back to jail, I was like "...Hug her. Hug her, man. Hug her!" But he didn't hug her. He just started to tear up a little. So then I was like "...Hug him! Hug him!" But it just faded to black. I may have to write about that.


	4. SLOPPY SECONDS

**-SLOPPY SECONDS-**

It is the first night that he has ever come back.

Clearly, the blonde bitch got him worked up enough on the card ride home. It is at the point where he's practically taking her in the doorway of her apartment. After answering the door clad in a white robe, still undressed beneath its fluffy material, he stares at her for a brief second. Her lip-gloss is still smudged against the edge of her jaw and bruises are beginning to form on her inner thighs. She masks her surprise at seeing him, greeting him with an open mouth as his tongue thrusts between her lips. Before the door has even clicked shut, his hand is palming her breast through her robe. Expertly turning the lock behind his back, she moans against his mouth as he slams her back against the white wood, his hands gripping her waist tightly and lifting her off her feet as his hips pin her against the door.

Her legs wind around his slender hips and squeeze tightly as she smirks to herself, his mouth trailing a hot line down her neck. Her bare core is pressed firmly to his pelvis, and she can feel the searing outline of his length pressing against the zipper of his jeans. One of her hands snakes up to his hair, gripping the short spikes hard and pushing his mouth farther into her skin desperately. But then, as suddenly as he'd stormed through her door, he pulls away from her as he unwraps her legs from his body, dropping her to the ground. Turning his back on her, he slithers towards the living room.

"So what'd she do?" she drawls coolly, casually loosening the belt of her robe as she pushes away the slight tightening in her chest. He pulls the dark hoodie he is wearing up over his shoulders and tosses it onto the floor. "How'd the Christian bitch disappoint you?" As he collapses back onto her couch, she slithers up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She feels the tenseness in his muscles and begins gently kneading them beneath her fingers. Kissing him, just under his ear, she lets her hands trail forward down his chest, smoothing out the wrinkles of his white t-shirt and resting her fingertips against the exposed elastic of his boxers.

"She promised to keep my in her prayers tonight," he snorts, tilting his head to the side. She bends her head lower, gently nipping at the crook of his neck. "Like God gives a shit about me. He didn't particularly care a few years ago, why should he care now?" She frowns slightly, her hands tugging at the belt securing his pants. Letting it flop open, she teasingly rakes her nails up his stomach, dragging his shirt up.

"Are you finally ready to give up on her?" she breaths in his ear. "Do you finally understand that you're _never gonna get her_?"

"Why bother? What I'm not getting from her," he grins, "I get from you in the meantime." She seriously considers slapping him and kicking him out, but by the time she gets around to opening her mouth his hands are already gripping her hair and pressing her against his neck. Finally tugging herself away from him, she retreats slowly towards her refrigerator, pulling out a small dish of strawberries.

"Want a snack before we _fuck_?" she says pointedly, watching him lick his lips. "I don't even know why I bother asking. You always do." Practically tossing one at him, she takes hers around to the other side of the coffee table, sitting herself on the couch. She knows that she's an expert at making fruit sexy. She watches him carefully after she finishes off the red berry. He lets an arm rest behind his neck, and she examines the ever-obvious scar on his pelvis. She can't remember where he'd told her that it'd come from, but it doesn't matter. He'd been lying. She couldn't have expected anything more honest. He comes to her over and over for release from sexual tension only. And she lets him because she needs to spite her mother.

But that can always change.

"That bitch got me so fucking hard," he hisses, unbuttoning his jeans. Rolling her eyes, she lets out a loud huff and turns away from him. "Jealously doesn't suit you," he sneers, tossing the stem from his strawberry back onto the plate. "Besides, you know that I'm always coming back. There's no one hornier at school." She smirks back, pulling one foot up onto the couch, perfectly aware of the way her robe falls open between her legs.

"True. I may even win Marc over one of these days."

"Marc?" His tone is harsh and demanding. She smirks, because jealously suits him.

"The guidance councilor. _Molina_." She runs her tongue over her teeth.

"You don't want him."

"How would you know? It's not like I confide in you a lot. You're getting harder and harder to get a hold of."

"Speaking of getting harder," he scowls and gestures at his pants, "Are you going to help me or not?" Standing up angrily, she snatches his glass away from him.

"Go wait in the bedroom." He glares at her, but slinks into the bedroom anyway. She follows slowly after replacing the dish in the refrigerator. His shirt and pants are already off and he is lying back with his hands behind his head. She's slowly discovering why sloppy seconds get thrown out. She sits between his slightly spread legs on the edge of the bed, and she grips his member firmly before beginning to pump up and down.

He stares at her. "What are you doing?"

She stares back at him, her fist easing up and down. "I'm doing what you asked. I'm helping you take care of your problem." She gives him a vicious squeeze and he grunts.

"Like that?" She glares at him and stops her ministrations.

"What do you suggest I do?" she hisses dangerously.

"Can I at least get a blowjob? I didn't drive all the way back here for something that I could do myself." He readjusts himself, leaning back against the headboard.

Her gaze is icy, and she grips him firmly as she growls, "If I put it near my mouth, I may bite it off."

He frowns. "What's up your ass?"

"Certainly not you." She lets go and crosses her arms as he smirks at her. He sits up straight, reaching out to gently rub his fingers over her arm.

"All this is jealousy over Gra—"

"Shut up. Shut up and get out." He kneels behind her, moving his hands to the front of her robe. He pulls at the tie, and she struggles with him.

"You don't want me to leave." She doesn't. "You want me to stay." She does. "You want to get naked with me and have sex all night long." He chuckles lightly in her ear and she closes her eyes tightly. He pulls open her robe, and she leans back against his shoulder as his hands grope at her breasts. His fingers dance down to stroke between her legs, and she sighs.

Later, when he falls asleep, she watches him. His head is turned towards her and his chest is moving up and down with his steady breaths. Bending down, she presses a kiss to his cheek, something that she has never actually done before. Fuck buddies don't do that. It's unnecessary. Slowly, his body rolls towards her, and his arm flings over her waist. He subconsciously hugs her close and her hand moves to cover his wrist. Smiling, she turns her head to kiss his cheek again. Maybe if she keeps doing it he'll keep holding on.

-x-

-x-

_**AdrianLee&RickyUnderwood. **_

_**TheSecretLifeoftheAmericanTeenager.**_

-x-

* * *

**Author's Note:** Alright. Here's another little drabble from me. I actually stared writing this one a long time ago, and I just never got around to finishing it up so that I could post it. This goes back all the way to season one when Ricky was pursuing/dating Grace. These drabbles, I should mention, might be a little out of order once in a while. If I ever get as far as the season two storyline, I might sometimes feel like going back to the older plot points. This drabble, actually, probably would have come before Home, maybe even before Kinky. I have another drabble that I'll probably be posting soon, depending on how much revision I decide I have to do. It's called 'Prison'. Oh, and by the way, I squealed like crazy when Ricky told off Ruben, and then I squealed again when Adrian called him her boyfriend. (I mean, come on. That's an EEP! moment. :D) And I also noticed that, as of the last two episodes, Adrian and Ricky seem to be the only sensible ones and Amy is a whiny, annoying jerkface. As my friend said, you know things are pretty bad when those two start making the most sense.

Alright, so this is a bit of shameless advertising on my part: for anyone who is also a High School Musical fan (mostly Chad/Sharpay, possibly a little onesided Troy/Sharpay and minor background Troy/Gabriella) I have a oneshot called _Blood Red and Misery Black_ that I posted a while back. (It's not violent and there is no self-harm or character death, if you got that impression. The title is just a little misleading.) Just in case anyone is interested, I thought I would mention it. Plus, I was a little unsure of it and was hoping for some constructive feedback.

Okay. Anyway. Back to the drabble at hand! As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! I love hearing peoples' opinions!


	5. PRISON

**-PRISON-**

His eyes shine with tears and she grins, reaching out to pull him into a tight embrace as her fists clutch at the layers of his jacket. He lets her cradle his head against her shoulder and digs his fingers into her waist as they stumble farther into the apartment. She gently rocks him, letting out a shaky sigh when she feels the moisture running over her collar bone and desperately wishing that she'd known him enough to comfort him when he was small. When he pulls back, he rubs his face with his hands and takes a step away, his entire body trembling.

"He's going to come back." He leans back against the thick wood of the door. "He always comes back."

Shaking her head, she reaches out and holds his head in her hands, forcing him to stare into her eyes. "He's gone." He nods and hugs her again, her lips falling directly against the shell of his ear. "He's gone and he's never coming back." She strips him of his jacket and kisses her way down his neck as her fingers nimbly remove his belt from his jeans.

They don't have sex.

They sit on her couch half dressed and watch MTV and Fuse until it's dark outside her windows and she can see the orange lights outside in the parking lot. Shadows engulf the entire room, and she can only make out the part of his face that the television illuminates. She laughs at one of the music videos and he lays his head down on her lap, his body stretched out along the length of the sofa with his feet pressed against the arm on the opposite end. She strokes her fingers through his hair and he nuzzles his face into her stomach, holding one of her hands against his chest. At some point, he rolls over and slides up her body, pressing his palm to her pulse and brushing his lips against hers. She follows his lead as he kisses her, and she feels his arms shaking.

When he starts crying, she wipes the tears away from his eyes and caresses his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. He lays his head against her chest, and she resumes the stroking of his hair as he sobs himself to exhaustion, finally collapsing his weight on top of her as his eyes flutter shut.

Her father calls at nine.

"_Is he there?_" are the first words out of his mouth. She sighs, kissing his forehead and wondering if they both wouldn't be better off if her father was in prison, too.

"Yeah." She watches him sleep, still stroking his hair. "He's sleeping."

"_God, Adrian, are there any boundaries—_"

"We didn't sleep together, so you can calm down." He twitches in his sleep, and she lowers her voice. "He's just sleeping. He's resting."

"_He needs to go home now, Adrian. His parents are worried._" He pauses and corrects himself. "_His foster parents are worried_."

"Call them and tell that that he's here. He can't go home. He's tired." She smiles down at him, lightly brushing her fingertips over his eyelids.

"_He's a big boy, Adrian. I think he can figure out how to sleep without you. He did it for years, I'm sure, and he can bear doing it again for the night._"

Her heart clenches. "Leave him alone."

"_I'm going to come over to make sure that he leaves._"

"I said leave him alone."

She hangs up before he can get another word in, throwing the phone onto the other chair. Settling back against the couch, she cradles him in her arms and softly hums a lullaby until she can't keep her eyes open any more. Her doorbell rings at eleven and he rouses from his sleep as she is shocked from slumber, her neck stiff from her previous position.

"Fuck," he groans, sitting up.

"It's fine." He glances sleepily at her, rubbing a hand over his face and stretching his arms over his head. "You were tired." He throws a look at the door as the doorbell rings again, the pounding on the wood intensifying.

"Are you going to get that?"

She shakes her head, reaching down to entwine their fingers. "It's after eleven. I'm not going to answer it."

"That's your…?" She nods

"You're tired," she says softly. "Go lay down in my bed. I'll bring you some water."

"I'm not…" Her name is shouted through the door and his jaw tightens. "Sure." He disappears into around the corner in the hallway and she moves towards the front door, her hand pausing at the handle as it shakes from her father's heavy pounding.

"Adrian," he calls angrily, and she can practically feel his frustration, "Open this door _right_ _now!_"

She pulls her hand back and goes to the kitchen to pour a glass for the broken boy in her bedroom. The door continues to rattle on its hinges as she walks down the hallway, turning into her room.

"I like it here," he admits tiredly as she crawls into the bed beside him, his body sinking into the softness of the mattress as she carefully places the glass down on her bedside table. "There are no parents here." She pulls away from his shaking hands, and tells him that she'll be right back, stalking determinedly down the hall towards the front door. Cautiously, she secures the chain lock before pulling the door open. Her father puts an extreme amount of pressure on the wood, glaring at her through the thin crack when it won't open any farther.

"Adrian!"

"You're going to scare him," she hisses. "He's upset right now. Go away." She digs her nail into the fingers that are wrapped around the molding and shuts the door when he retracts his hand, but he continues knocking. "I'll call the police," she threatens. "I swear I will. Leave us alone!"

Finally, her father stops knocking and she returns to the bedroom.

"That took too long," he whispers, his hands grasping through the air for her. "I hate waiting for people to come into my room at night." Her heart breaks and she grabs onto him, crying against his bare chest as he blinks. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry," she whimpers, "I'm so sorry."

They both know that none of it is her fault, but somehow the tears that she sheds all over his skin make him feel better. He doesn't know it, but he can feel it as the cage inside him begins to break down. She presses her lips firmly to the left side of his chest as she cries, and the prison around his heart melts.

-x-

-x-

_**AdrianLee&RickyUnderwood. **_

_**TheSecretLifeoftheAmericanTeenager.**_

-x-

* * *

**Author's Note:** Alright, I had some personal stuff going on the past week and couldn't get this out, but then I had a miniature panic attack yesterday because I thought I missed watching SLOTAT, believing it was Monday. It seriously inspired me to finish this piece up. Then, I watched today's episode and I sat there squealing at Ricky going "I want a commitment" because that came BAM right out of nowhere. Obviously, I'm a Ricky/Adrian shipper, but I never expected the writers to have him come right out a request monogamy. But then the silly boy had to go and mask his feelings for Adrian (which he obviously doesn't fell comfortable admitting to yet) by claiming that Ben is his friend. Come on. That was a cover up if I've ever heard one. :D The next drabble that you can expect from me for this series is called 'Friend' and that will essentially be about the last episode of the first season. After that, I may re-watch some of the season two episodes to get some good ideas for more drabbles. (That little Ricky/Ruben verbal smackdown is kind of hard to resist.) Anyway, I hope to have 'Friend' up soon. It's all written, so it's just a matter of finding the time to proofread and edit.

(WARNING: SHAMELESS STORY PIMPING AHEAD) Also, **HSM **fans be sure to check out the **Into the Lines** fanfiction awards on LiveJournal. My story Saint Valentine's Day is up for sexiest oneshot! Plus, even if you're not a hardcore High School Musical fan, I would recommend checking out the awards just because of the quality work of the author's being presented. I'm extremely honored that my work was considered worthy of being placed in a category against some of the best authors in the HSM fandom!


	6. FRIEND

**-FRIEND-**

She doesn't like feeling uncomfortable. She never has because with discomfort comes a lack of control, and she can't handle chaos. She's been through nine months of chaos recently, and it only managed to reinforce the fact. The only chaos she likes is the drama that she creates because she can control her own disorder and she likes knowing what's going on.

She remembers from before all this when she would have to walk up to another majorette and ask for a ride home from practice because her mother was too preoccupied with married men to buy her a car. She remembers when she could have casual sex with an extremely unattached drummer without feeling as though she was stealing him away from an unborn baby boy. She remembers when she didn't have to school the class virgin in how to be discrete about birth control pills. What she wouldn't give to be back then. What she wouldn't give to reverse all of this.

She remembers in the middle of all of this when she had decided that her step-brother would be an acceptable substitute and had to stare him in the face as she condemned him to boot camp for being stupid enough to love her. She wants her father to vanish again for everything that he's done, but parts of her are eternally grateful to him for clearing her mind as she looks at the boy who is determined to prove himself a better father than his own.

She never waited for his calls, she realizes. They were expected and she planned her days around them, always making sure that she left room for him in her schedule. There was a specific time for him, almost, a certainty that she enjoyed having present in her life. It's gone. He doesn't call anymore like he used to. And she doesn't enjoy the feeling of waiting by the phone for a call that isn't coming, words that aren't going to be said, and feelings that aren't going to be felt.

She knows how close he is right now, sitting on the other side of the waiting room, too locked up in his own mind to even notice when she walked in through the automatic sliding glass doors an hour ago. His hands are clasped together in front of his mouth, and his right leg is shaking erratically.

He's all alone.

The pregnant girl's family is occupying the row of chairs closest to the hospital room that the whining keeps echoing out of, all the way to the left of the waiting room, muttering to themselves. In another section, the two anti-socialites with laptops are hunched in a corner, and Grace is there with a purity ring on her finger and a boy on her arm. Two girls leave the birthing room and go to sit with the boy in the sweater vest, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder before moving to two empty chairs.

She discards her purse on the empty chair beside her, staring at him until something blocks her view. The gangly body draped in an ill-fitting vest crosses the room and sits down next to him, his lips moving in logical and calculated sentences. He remains unresponsive as she chews on her thumb nail. The sweater moves past her again, and he's isolated once more.

He stands. Her heart breaks as he begins pacing the distance of five chairs. He has never been a pacer. He runs his hands through his hair, staring blankly at the tiles as he treads across them, back and forth. Her hands tighten on the arms of the stiff wooden chair and she plants her feet flat on the ground. His back is to her when she finally works her way across the room and steps into his path, and he turns around, smacking directly into her. He stumbles, his eyes focusing wildly on each item in his line of vision as she wraps her arms around his body and squeezes him tightly.

He doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her in return.

"It's scary," she hears him whisper, reflexively strengthening her hold on him. She hadn't expected him to speak to her. "I'm gonna fuck up." Her heart hurts with every word.

"You don't know that."

His lips lightly touch her neck and she hugs him tightly, glancing briefly at the pregnant girl's family. The little girl draped in black material is glaring at her. He exhales shakily against her skin. "It's in my blood to fuck up at this."

"It's _not_," she insists, staring at his ear. "You're going to be a great dad. You know why?" She combs her fingers through his hair. "Because you want to be one." He clutches her tight to his body, wrapping his arms around her and taking shallow breaths. She feels everyone watching them. "I should probably go wait in the car," she whispers softly, pulling away from him slowly. "Nobody wants me here." His hand closes around her wrist.

"I want you here." She stares up into his eyes, disbelieving. "You have to stay."

He pulls her over to sit against the wall.

"Thank you." He swallows roughly, "For being my friend today."

"I don't want to be your friend," she whispers softly. "I can't be your friend, Ricky. I'm not good at being peoples' friend. You know that friendship is not what I'm looking for." He sighs, running a hand over his face. "But I'll be your friend when you need me to."

The appropriately aged mother across the room stands and hesitantly enters the birthing room. His eyes follow her form and his leg begins to shake again.

"I'm gonna be a dad."

"You're going to be a _great dad._"

He scoffs weakly. "Says who?"

"Says me. You have to be a great dad. For me. And for you. And for your baby." She unconsciously leaves out the mother's name. "You know about my dad. You know about your dad. Make it better for your baby." He stares at her while she takes his hand.

"I never wanted to have kids," he admits, "Because when we watch those videos in health it's always the guy who was abused as a kid who ends up abusing his kids. And I didn't want to do that."

"Not always. Just because some stuff happened to you, it doesn't mean that you'll do that to your baby. You hate what he did to you, Ricky, but you know that it's his fault and not your baby's. You know better than to punish your son for something that's not his fault."

"What if I don't?"

"You do."

"But—"

"Stop!" she exclaims. "You are going to be a great dad, Ricky. I have faith in you."

He laughs, just like she had hoped he would. "You sound like Grace."

"I know. But it's true. I know that you'll be a great dad. And I'll be right here if you ever need anything, okay?"

A scream comes from the birthing room and he stands frantically. "Oh, fuck my life." She slaps his arm. "I mean, I'm going to be a good dad."

"That's right."

**-x-**

**-x-**

_**AdrianLee&RickyUnderwood.**_

_**TheSecretLifeoftheAmericanTeenager.**_

**-x-**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Alright. This drabble is basically the end of the season one material. Now I'll probably be moving on to season two rather than going back to earlier episodes. How can I resist? There's Ricky/Ruben verbal smack-downs, requests for commitment, and apartments above/behind butcher shops. Doesn't get much better than that!

I watched SLOTAT with my friend yesterday, and we both agreed that the scene where Ricky immediately called Adrian after Leo offered him the apartment was the only scene that really made the episode worth watching. (Oh, and the Betty parts. Because she's awesome.) I've lost all patience for Amy and her nonstop whining, and the entire episode was basically about her forcing Ben to take her to Italy. BUT anyway... Ricky and Adrian made my night. ;)

Reviews are always appreciated!


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